Thursday Morning, Reyes Household
Simon woke to water hammering the pipes behind the wall. The shower was on. Beth was singing—some 80s soft-rock song she liked to belt when she thought no one could hear. Off-key, oblivious. Happy.
He lay still, the sheets twisted around his waist, damp from dreams he didn’t want to name. But they came anyway. Flashed.
Javier—bare-assed and bent over the motel bed, his back glistening with sweat. Head down. Fists clutching the sheets. The way his breath had hitched when Simon slid into him. The heat. The way they’d moved, like two animals with no language except rhythm.
Simon’s body responded before he could even try to stop it. A hard, insistent ache pressed against his waistband. He hissed through his teeth, eyes pinched shut.
He shouldn’t be this aroused. Not here. Not now.
The bathroom door creaked open.
Beth stepped out in a white towel, pink from the shower, hair wet and slicked back. She was beautiful—natural beauty. Ample breasts, still high and full. Slender legs, toned from years of running, the gym. And a full, round ass, the kind that turned heads when she wore yoga pants and didn’t even notice.
She caught the bulge under the sheet and arched a brow, a teasing smile curling her lips. “Well, good morning.”
Simon didn’t speak.
Beth walked over, the towel clinging to her curves, steam still rising off her skin. She leaned down, bracing a hand beside him on the bed, giving him a full view of her cleavage.
“I’ve got a few minutes before I take Lily to practice,” she said, voice low. Playful. “If you want me to handle that for you.”
Her fingers skimmed the sheet. Just a brush.
Simon recoiled. “I’m—I’ve got an early meeting.”
Beth froze for half a second. Just long enough.
“Right,” she said, straightening. “Of course.”
Simon didn’t look at her as he slipped out of bed and headed to the shower. His erection didn’t fade. Not from guilt. Not even from shame.
---
Fifteen minutes later...
Beth handed him a travel mug. Black coffee. Two sugars. Always.
He took it and nodded, already halfway out the door. She reached up and kissed him goodbye—light, soft, forgettable.
“Have a good day,” she said.
“You too.”
---
Twenty minutes later – Car Park, St. Paul’s High School
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Simon pulled into the faculty lot. A few teachers were already here—Mrs. Dahl’s Civic, Coach Ward’s Jeep. Everything looked normal.
But something didn’t feel normal.
He sat with the engine running, fingers wrapped too tight around the steering wheel. The coffee steamed beside him, untouched.
There was nothing unusual. Just cars. Puddles. The hum of campus sprinklers behind the main building.
But Simon’s skin prickled—neck tight, spine rigid. Like he was being watched.
He looked toward the school. Then out the passenger-side window. Nothing.
Still. Something felt off.
He shook it off. Turned the key. Pocketed his badge.
---
Front Office – 7:52 AM
Simon barely made it through the double doors when he heard it: “There he is—Principal Reyes. Looking sinfully sharp before 8 AM.”
He turned and found Derek Hartley leaning against the front counter, arms crossed, smirk locked in place. Fitted track jacket clinging to a chest he probably worked on more than he worked. Legs tanned and bare in gym shorts despite the weather.
“Kayla forgot her folder again,” he said, waving a neon mess of paper. “I’m beginning to think it’s just an excuse to see your pretty face.”
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Appreciate the drop-off.”
Derek grinned wider. “You’re welcome. Always happy to service… the administration.”
Simon didn’t respond. He reached for the folder, but Derek didn’t hand it over right away. Instead, he leaned in a little closer—voice dropping, playful and thick with suggestion.
“You look tired,” he said, eyes scanning Simon’s face like he was reading a menu. “Rough morning? You need something hot. Sweet. Wet.”
A pause.
Then he whispered, lips barely moving: “And not me. Unless you ask nicely.”
Simon’s stomach flipped—not with attraction. With something colder. Dirtier. He forced a tight smile, stepped back, and took the folder with more force than necessary.
“I’ve got coffee in my office. Thanks again, Derek.”
Derek winked. “Rain check then.”
Simon turned away fast, jaw tight, pulse hammering in his throat. Behind him, Derek chuckled to himself, probably proud of the performance.
He didn’t see the car across the street.
Didn’t see the eyes watching him from behind fogged glass.
Didn’t see the way the figure in the driver’s seat whispered the words too—not me. Unless you ask nicely.
—
---
Alvarez Home – 6:15 AM
The smell of burnt toast pulled Javier out of a dream he already couldn’t remember. Maybe it was better that way.
He rolled onto his back with a groan. The bed beside him was cold. Rosa had been up for an hour, probably corralling the kids, packing lunches, wrangling soccer cleats from under couches.
Downstairs, someone was crying. Someone else was yelling.
The normal chaos.
Javier peeled himself off the mattress, jeans half-kicked off his legs from the night before. His body ached—the good kind. Deep in his bones, he still felt it. Simon’s hands. Simon’s mouth. Simon’s body pinning his down until he forgot his name.
He scrubbed a hand through his hair, breathing out a curse.
It was just sex.
It was always just sex.
Until it wasn’t.
---
Garage – 7:45 AM
The shop lights buzzed overhead as Javier pulled into Alvarez Auto Repair, the sky still gray and heavy with leftover rain. A few regulars were already parked outside, dropping keys into the slot.
Inside, Miguel was hunched over the counter, filling out invoices, a toothpick dangling from his mouth.
He looked up when Javier walked in—eyed him once, slow.
"Man, you always look dead on Friday mornings," Miguel said casually, smirking. "Rosa running you ragged, or you got a secret second job I don’t know about?"
Javier chuckled, forcing it light. "Three kids, man. I’m lucky I get any sleep at all."
Miguel grunted, half-believing it. "Yeah. Sure. Just saying—if Rosa’s got that kind of stamina, she needs to give my girl some tips."
Javier laughed again, grabbed a rag, and headed straight for the workbench.
Miguel didn’t push. He never did. Just kept watching with that easy, knowing look he had—the one that said you can lie if you want, primo, but I see you anyway.
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